


Suum Ca'nara (Beyond Time)

by Bigorneaux



Series: Cyare Di’kute (Beloved Idiots) [3]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Fatherhood, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, LadyIrina is a deity among mere mortals, M/M, Marriage, Mostly fluff but a plot snuck in?, Non-Explicit Sex, Rating is for mild language and non-explicit sex, established marriage, mostly comfort, soft, soft fic, thank you for Corin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27762463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bigorneaux/pseuds/Bigorneaux
Summary: Suum ca’nara: a blissful state of rest and peace (literally, "beyond time").A supply-run mishap leads to a reprieve on a forest planet for our favourite little space family. Life is enjoyed and commitments are made.Sequel toNi Cuy' Kyash Kar’taandPar Darasuum, but can be read as a standalone.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret) & Din Djarin, Corin Valentis/Din Djarin, Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/Din Djarin
Series: Cyare Di’kute (Beloved Idiots) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022686
Comments: 14
Kudos: 66





	Suum Ca'nara (Beyond Time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Hidden and Revealed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599798) by [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina). 



> This is basically 5000 words of Corin, Din and the kid being a family. It occurs in a possible future where Din and Corin have been married for some time and they have officially adopted the child in the Mandalorian fashion. It also assumes that helmets can be removed in front of very young immediate family members. Though not fully explained in this fic, my headcanon is that the Tribe would allow this to facilitate a child’s early development, like language-learning. Though most of this fic is safe-for-work, there is non-explicit sex at the end; thus, the mature rating (which may be too high, but I prefer to air on the side of too high rather than too low). Translation notes for the Mando’a in this fic are in the end notes. Finally, thank you to LadyIrina! I cannot thank you enough for Corin and the whole Mandorin ‘verse!
> 
> Thanks for reading, folks! I hope this fic brightens your day!

Corin watches the line of Din’s shoulders as they enter the atmosphere of the small, blue-green planet below them. He can see the weight that’s settled there, the unspoken anxiety pulling taut across Din’s frame. While his view is obstructed by the helmet, he doesn’t need to see the other man’s face to know his jaw is clenched with the same rigid tension.

It’s been a long, long day. Corin’s own exhaustion thrums dully in his head with a force that can no longer be ignored and he knows with certainty that despite his _riduur_ ’s habitual stoicism, Din’s in far rougher shape and in significantly more pain than he is. Corin had taken a pretty square punch to the face and has a persistent throb in his cheekbone and eye socket, but Din had taken a serious impact to the side and had a shallow arm wound where he’d been grazed by a blaster shot. In the grand scheme of injuries, it was not, by any means, anything Din couldn’t handle, but Corin still wants to soothe away his exhaustion and check Din over thoroughly. Though he’s been pushing it to the back of his mind, he's worried that there could be internal bleeding in addition to the constellation of bruises he knows are under Din’s clothes. 

The terrain of the planet is clearly visible now as they draw closer. It’s a lush wilderness dotted with rolling hills, rivers and lakes. Verdant swathes of deep green coniferous forest blanket each valley and encircle each lake. Din reaches out to run a scan to determine a suitable place to land, and Corin thinks he can see just the barest amount of tension leave the taut line of Din’s shoulders. Safety and rest are getting closer. 

At that thought, Corin hugs the sleeping child in his arms just a bit tighter. Their little _ad'ika_ had been passed out cold since he’d used his powers and, even more exhausted than his parents, hadn’t shown any signs of waking yet. Corin wanted desperately to get somewhere safe where the three of them could curl up together and sleep off the disaster of the last half-dozen hours. He hoped like hell that this planet would be that place. 

Din sets the Crest down in a meadow near a long, shimmering lake that is cradled by pebbled shores and thick forest. The planet has a soft, quiet beauty that seems to welcome them in. They’d been directed to it as a good place to find safe harbour for a bit after contacting the Covert on the comm system and Corin trusts their judgement. But even beyond that, there is a feeling to the planet that just radiates safety, a sense of good luck that permeates the place, and Corin feels himself relax ever so slightly as the Crest’s engines still. 

He kisses their _ad’ika_ ’s fuzzy head and casts a glance at Din, who must have the same sense about the planet. The line of his shoulders softens incrementally again, and then Din huffs a sigh, his shoulders rounding fully as he collapses to slouch into his seat with his head tilted back and his gaze on the ceiling. 

“ _Shab’ni. Ibi'tuur liser sooran ni’jagyc_ ,” he mutters. 

* * *

The tired laugh Corin barks out at his curse warms Din and loosens even more of the tension that has been wound inside him like a coil since things went to hell a few hours ago. He loves (and is maybe slightly responsible for and vaguely embarrassed by) the fact that Corin picked up on how to curse in Mando’a so easily. Plus, it just feels good to hear him laugh. To know that he and their little one are whole and hale and finally, blessedly, safe again. 

Eight days ago, they’d left on a fairly straightforward supply run for the Covert. Acquiring the food, parts, medicines and other sundries for the community had been successful. But their last stop had taken them through an area of space that was known for raiders and pirates because of its use as a shipping route and its current lack of any official patrolling. Going up and around the route would add days onto the trip and expose them to other hazards, so there wasn’t much of a choice. They’d taken precautions, fully expecting to be dropped out of hyperspace by a well-placed mine and potentially even be boarded. But, as Corin would say, good luck had been on their side on their way to the outpost, where they’d secured a shipment of smuggled weapons. They’d passed through unharrassed, closed the deal, and prepared for the journey home. They just needed to cross through that damn garbage dump of a trade route once more and then they’d be on their way. Din had intended to avoid all major travel routes after that, even if it meant picking their way painstakingly through a few asteroid fields. He’d rather the stress of careful piloting over the hassle of people who wanted him dead. 

Din was no stranger to the risks of living life on the margins, but he’d become less needlessly brazen these past years. He had more to think about than just himself now. His _aliit_ needed him and needed to be kept safe. And the Covert needed these supplies, the credits for which were not simple to come by. 

So, understandably, Din was as pissed as a Bluurg in heat when bad luck struck on their way back across the route. They’d prepared carefully for an attack. Corin had hidden himself in one of the Crest’s secret cargo holds, ready to emerge armed to the teeth and with the advantage of surprise should they get boarded. Din had laid a few traps around the Crest, checked his own weapons to ensure they were all functioning optimally, and then locked the _ad’ika_ in his sleeping cubby. And when they got boarded, it all went perfectly until the womp rat sensed danger, used the damn Force to open the lock on his cubby, and entered the fray with good, if misguided, intentions of kicking the assess of the mean people who wanted to hurt his dads. 

In the ensuing complications, Din had ended up pinned under a ridiculously heavy cargo crate with a blaster wound, Corin had been smoked in the face by a scruffy Weequay, the kid unleashed his powers and fixed the chaos he’d started, and a handful pirates had been sucked out the Crest’s airlock into the cozy void of space after Corin blew their rinky-dink ship to smithereens. 

All in all, not bad, but not the ideal itinerary for Din’s day either. Plus, the Crest had sustained some damage, and after frantically working to fix it up enough that they weren’t adrift in a pirate-infested shipping lane, Corin and Din had been exhausted and ready to find somewhere to lie low and shore up the repairs before making their way home. And, maybe, lick their wounds. _They hadn’t even been formidable opponents_ , Din thinks wryly. They’d been rag-tag versions of most of the pirates he’d encountered before. It was embarrassing, really. 

_Cui ogir'olar_ , Din thinks. _Whatever_. Embarrassment, he has realized, seems to be part of the whole fatherhood package deal. You can only get your beskar barfed on so many times before it doesn’t really faze you anymore. 

Eventually, Din feels like he might actually have the energy to stand up, and he shifts in his seat in careful, calculated movements. The whole right side of his body is on fire. He grunts as he finally rises to standing, struggling to maintain his balance through the dizzying waves of discomfort the action causes. But then Corin is at his side, steadying him with a firm hand on his elbow. 

“Easy, _kar’ta_ ,” he says, “I got you.” 

“I’m good, just—” 

“Look, _di’kut_ , nobody who's been pinned under that much tinned food can possibly be ‘good.’ Knock it off with the stoicism.” Corin is stern but there is a loving amusement in his voice under the order. This is the gentle, lilting banter that has become the way of their connection to one another; the immutable happiness that underpins all the hardships they navigate. 

While secretly comforted by Corin’s concern, the words also make another wave of embarrassment wash wryly over Din. Getting crushed by a crate of canned soup isn’t really the most dignified way to be injured. 

“I’m fine, really, Corin. Just stiff is all.” 

“Uh huh,” Corin replies, having none of it. “Let’s get cleaned up and settled, and then I want that armour off—” 

“Well now, Corin, I don’t know if I’m up for _those_ sorts of activities,” Din needles, overtired and making bad jokes.

“Zip it, _di’kut_.” And at that, Corin’s eyebrow is arched perfectly over a bright blue eye; that, combined with his endearing attempt to look stern with a face the colour of a jogan and their snoozing _ad’ika_ on his hip, makes Din feel like maybe, somehow, he is up for some creative undressing after all. Every once in a while it hits him in an absolutely heart-bursting way just how far they’ve come together for Corin to be able to tease him and challenge him like this. Stars, he loves him. 

Din reaches up without thinking and unlocks the release on his helmet to ease it off his head before leaning over and catching the thin line of Corin’s mouth in a kiss. He lets the helmet fall to the seat and uses his free hand to pull Corin into the kiss, pushing down the jolt of pain the movement causes. This feeling—the pliance of Corin’s lips, his familiar scent, the gentle snoring of their _ad’ika_ between them—is a balm that can soothe away even the worst pain. They are safe, they are whole, and they are with him. Everything else can be handled and healed in due time. 

And due time, for Corin, is essentially yesterday, so Din just goes with it and lets Corin herd him along after the kiss ends. They head to the section of the cargo bay that doubles as their sleeping area and Din takes the kid from his _riduur_ ’s arms while he spreads out the rolled up futon pad they keep there and dumps their blankets on top of it. They’d abandoned the too-small bunks long ago in favour of a system that allows them to curl up comfortably as family, and Din feels a surge of renewed gratitude for that long-ago decision. 

Corin tosses a couple of pillows onto the heap and then stretches out his arms to take their _ad’ika_ back. He creates a special little nest for him on the upper corner of the bed. The kid is likely to sleep for hours yet, and Din feels little tendrils of warmth unfurl in his chest as he watches the tenderness with which Corin tucks him in. He’s watched these simple little acts of love countless times, but they still manage to pierce through him with a sharp, beautiful sweetness. 

The fussing, clucking Endorian mother hen that is his husband turns his attention to him next and Din knows better than to fight the man’s affectionate scrutiny. And honestly, he doesn’t really want to fight it. If there is one person in the galaxy he doesn’t have to be tough in front of, it’s Corin. He’ll always be tough as beskar _for_ Corin and _for_ his _aliit_ , but he doesn’t have to be tough _in front of_ them, not when they are like this, soft and unguarded and relatively safe. 

So, Din lets Corin undo his armour piece by piece, laying it reverently by his helmet next to their bed. Corin is gentle, especially when manoeuvring around Din’s injured side, and his mindful, soothing touches lull away the last remnants of the day’s tension. The pain is still impossible to ignore, but feels a bit more manageable now that it’s not compounded by mental stress and rigid muscles.

“Alright, Din,” Corin says softly, as he tugs at the bottom of Din’s underarmour and shirt for emphasis “Do you think you can lift your arms up so we can get these off?” 

“Not made of glass, _cyare_ ,” Din reminds him. But he struggles to hide the wince when he lifts his arms up to let Corin pull his clothes over his head. 

“Hmm, I know,” Corin hums as he begins to inspect Din’s side. “But you also tend to ignore your own limits so permit me my fretting, please. Now, sit.” Corin gestures to a nearby crate and Din doesn’t even have it in him to grumble. He just plunks down and feels stupidly grateful for his clucking hen of a husband. 

Corin’s hands, though they poke and prod a bit as he works to confirm that the contusions are all superficial and there is no internal damage, feel good on Din’s bare skin. Din savours every touch and Corin knows it, peppering the process with superfluous caresses designed to distract him from the pain. If Din weren’t so brutally tired now that he’d finally relaxed a bit, the touches would be intoxicating. But any desire in him is muted by exhaustion and injury, and he just lets himself drift in the ease of being cared for.

Once the blaster wound on his arm has been re-bandaged, a hypospray of painkillers administered, and a bacta salve applied across the bruising on his torso, Corin makes to guide him over to the bed. This time, though, Din resists. 

“Uh-uh, not so fast,” he hisses, moving quickly to grasp Corin’s arm and still him. “You, _ner cyare di’kut_ , are also injured in case you have forgotten.”

“I’m fine, Din, really. It’s not my first black eye and it won’t be my last."

“Corin, you got socked pretty good. You’re lucky you’re not concussed.” Din hesitates, eyes narrowing to search Corin’s face. “You’re not concussed are you? How many fingers?” 

Corin shoves his fingers out of his face with a glare and an annoyed smirk tugging at his lips. “No, not concussed. At least not badly.” 

“Whatever,” Din huffs, “Get yourself a shot of painkillers out of that med kit and hand me that salve.” 

It’s Din’s turn to offer comfort, and he administers the hypospray as gently as he can, then strokes the bacta salve across the purpled skin of Corin’s face with whispering fingers. He ends the process with a chaste kiss on the corner of Corin’s mouth and together they ease themselves down onto the futon mattress. Din rolls himself onto his undamaged side. With Corin bracketed behind him, face nuzzled into the crook of Din’s neck, he finally gives himself fully to his exhaustion. He uses his last moments before sleep claims him to shift the bundle of their _ad’ika_ ’s little nest closer to his chest and slide his hand under the kid’s fuzzy head. Then he drifts off into the perfect rest of family and safety and love. 

* * *

Corin wakes the next morning to the hungry coos of their _ad’ika_. He peers over Din’s bare shoulder to see the kid just starting to push back the blankets that he was swaddled in. Din is still sleeping soundly, his face relaxed and breath deep and even, and Corin wants to let him rest. He presses his fingers to his lips and winks at the kid, then peels himself up and away from his sleeping husband to scoop up the little menace before he can extract himself from his blanket prison and pounce. Corin blows a raspberry on the little womp rat’s head, grabs his shirt, some protein bars and a few other miscellaneous snacks, and heads for the cockpit. He wants to go outside and Raga had repeatedly assured them that it was safe - uninhabited, no dangerous plant or animal life, not really known as a hideout for anyone but herself and a few others in the Covert who sometimes use it as a place to rest when doing supply runs. “It’s basically a secret vacation planet,” she’d laughed conspiratorially, “So just go get your shit together and enjoy a little family holiday at the same time.” But still, Corin needs to make sure. He runs scans of the surrounding area and breaks off little pieces of protein bar for the kid by rote as he reviews them. 

When he’s satisfied, he makes his way to the exit ramp and heads outside with the kid on one hip and a precautionary blaster on the other. He is greeted by cool morning air and the system’s two small suns rising in tandem over the glimmer-glass of the serene lake. The meadow where the Crest is gives way to a lakeshore that is pebbled with smooth, coppery stones that glitter in the early morning light. Fog rises off the water in tranquil wisps, but the sky directly overhead is lightening into the pale blue of a sunny day. 

The child on his hip chirps happily at the sights and reaches little grabby hands impatiently towards the water’s edge. Their tiny _ad’ika_ has always loved the water and is thrilled when Corin dots a series of kisses across the top of his head and heads for the shore. For him, water means splashing and swimming and maybe eating some frogs if his dads can be distracted long enough not to stop him. 

They nestle down close to the water and share another protein bar as the earth around them comes alive. Birds chirp in the trees and fish bob up to catch their breakfast, leaving little ripples to flicker across the mirror of the lake. When they finish, the kid nestles into the hollow of Corin’s crossed legs and reaches his hands up in an unspoken ask. Corin obliges the request for their morning ritual and takes the little green hands into his own, clapping them together and singing to him the song Din had taught them long ago:

_Su cuy'gar, verd'ika  
Cuun cyar’ika ad’ika  
Ca cuy munit  
A gar r’atin'la  
Sa beskar, ad’ika  
Jii bic cuy vaar'tur  
Ib'tuur jatne tuur  
Cuun cyar’ika ad’ika  
Cuun cyar’ika ad’ika _

Though this is not a new routine, Corin’s heart never fails to swell with the kid’s excitement. He squirms and wiggles and coos. When he starts singing along with a loud, uncoordinated “Pa, pa, pa, pa,” during the second repeat of the song, Corin loses the rhythm and laughs. The kid had only started word-like vocalizations recently and had started with “Pa.” Which of course, Paz decided was the kid’s way of saying his name and declared that “Paz” was his first word, effectively starting a war with Din, who insisted he was saying “Da” and was just “slurring his Ds,” whatever that meant. 

When Corin laughs so does his _ad’ika_ , and the song quickly devolves into tickles and snuggles and very, very gentle play wrestling on the sand of lakeshore. This continues until the kid sees a frog and scurries off after it. Corin decides not to be a mother hen for once and gets lost in watching him instead. He is happy, so happy, and just like his parents, is healing from the traumas of his past within the safe, encompassing love of his family. Corin's stomach twists faintly at the thought of his own childhood and he feels a wash of gratitude for the life he and Din have worked so hard to give their _ad’ika_. He’s sending a little prayer to good luck when light footsteps draw his attention back in the direction of the Crest. 

Din pads toward them, a metal canteen in one hand and his helmet cradled in his opposite arm. Since officially swearing the adoption vows last year, Din’s been able to remove his helmet in front of both his _riduur_ and his _ad’ika_ , a condition that is allowed by his Tribe until a parent’s child can speak in full sentences. The fact that Din feels comfortable enough to leave the Crest without it on, though, reassures Corin even further that this planet will keep them safe during their rest here. 

_Well, mostly safe_ , he thinks, as the little one yanks his hand out of the mouth of a particularly large species of frog that had decided to try to make a meal of the _ad’ika_ in an eat or be eaten sort of affair. The kid stretches a little claw out and gives the offending creature a gentle push with the Force, sliding it steadily backwards into the water until just its bulging eyes are visible. 

Din eases down beside him, grousing a little at the pain in his side and rolling his eyes theatrically at his son. He shoves the canteen at Corin and though all he says is “Tea?” Corin can hear the easy amusement in his voice. He is relishing this little respite every bit as much as the rest of his _aliit_. 

They sit in companionable silence for a long time, watching the kid learn and explore in the way only unfettered play can provide. Eventually, though, the suns creep higher and higher, and they can no longer resist starting their day. There are repairs to be made and cargo to be reorganized, so Corin binds the kid to him in a sling and they set about their tasks, leaving the shore behind for now. 

* * *

Din doesn’t see much of Corin for the rest of the morning. They both work in sync but separately to complete their tasks. It’s not until the sun is high and hot overhead that Corin finishes his share of the work and checks in with Din to help him along with what remains of his work. The kid is restless in his sling, nap time obviously over, but Corin is distracting the kid on autopilot by alternately scritching his head and trying to poke his belly in an improvised game that appears to be something along the lines of can-you-grab-my-hand-before-I pull-it-away. Corin insists that he can do whatever it is that he’s doing with the _ad’ika_ and help Din, too, but Din waves him off. 

“Go,” he says, “It’s warm and he’s restless and it’s perfect weather for a swim. Go.” 

Corin hesitates, pausing in a habitual moment of doubt that it really could be okay for him to relax without anyone being angry. Din has long ago accepted that the harms that have ingrained such behaviours in Corin are not a reflection of his own relationship with his _riduur_ and that getting offended by them only adds to the hurt that underlies them. So, he just smiles gently and leans in to kiss Corin’s temple. “I mean it,” he reassures, pulling back to meet Corin’s eyes with his own, “Go have fun.” 

When Din eventually finishes and makes his way down to the water to join them, he finds himself briefly stilled by the scene that greets him. Corin is waist deep in the clear water of the lake, skin shining in the sun, hair dripping wet and face open and joyous with laughter as he flies the _ad’ika_ in an up and down motion, dipping him into the water to kick and splash before swinging him high up above his head. The water that arcs ups from the motion seems to freeze and sparkle like suspended gemstones for brief moments each time, and the air seems to thrum with a jubilant, free-wheeling energy. It is a sharp, crystalline moment of pure freedom and it burns itself onto Din’s heart, his throat and chest sweetly constricted by the sight. 

Din quietly sits down a few feet from the water’s edge, determined not to disturb the simple magic of the moment. After a time, though, Corin notices him and the spell is gently broken. 

“Ahh, sorry! We lost track of time,” Corin calls, smilingly a bit sheepishly, “Ready to go?” 

Din smiles back, but shakes his head. “No, _cyar’ika_.” 

“Oh.” Corin looks confused. “No?” 

“Nah,” Din confirms. “I think we can stay one more night. Maybe have a campfire and just rest.” 

The brilliance of Corin’s smile at this just about stops Din’s heart and kills him on the spot, only to bring him back to life better than he was before. If he were ever jettisoned out an airlock, he’s pretty sure the memory of that smile alone would keep him from suffocating in the freezing void of space. 

Corin blows a raspberry on the kid’s head. Their son has picked up on the excitement in the air and is cooing happily. He twists in Corin’s arms and reaches for Din, his little claws opening and closing. 

“I think he wants you to come swim,” Corin interprets, eyebrows raised in amusement. 

Din smirks. Other than to save his life, he hasn’t swam in a very, very long time. Not since he was a boy. Memories flicker through him of a life long left behind, one that he barely remembers. His mother’s delicate hand enclosing his own as they walked to the river near their village, her red robes swishing in time to the song she hummed for him as she got him ready to join the other village kids who were already laughing and splashing in the water. Her petal-soft scent and the complete peacefulness of being with her. Din takes a deep breath at the pang of sadness that shivers through him. He wonders if their little _ad’ika_ will have a similar memory of this day, of Corin, and hopes like hell that if he does, it won’t have to be accompanied by the same sadness as Din’s. 

“Everything okay?” Corin’s voice leads him gently out of his thoughts. He’s made his way to the shore and is easing down to sit beside Din. The child is quieter now, still content, but looking at Din with knowing eyes. 

“I used to go swimming with my mother,” Din says faintly. “Before—well, before…” He trails off, but Corin’s look is understanding and he knows he doesn’t have to explain further. “Those are good memories,” he adds, his voice just a little unsteady. “I’m just happy that this little womp rat will have good memories, too.” He rubs his knuckles across the damp peach fuzz on the kid’s head.

Corin’s hand finds Din’s face and turns his head. Their foreheads meet in a _kov’nyn_. “Thanks for telling me that,” murmurs Corin, who’s sensed that he’s been entrusted with information, however small, that no one else ever has been. 

The kid gurgles happily between them, and Din can’t resist. He stands up, shucking off his boots and removing his pants and shirt to sit in a heap next to his helmet. Swimming seems like just as good a way as any to pass the rest of this beautiful afternoon. 

* * *

That evening, once the campfire has died to embers and they’ve tucked their worn out _ad’ika_ into bed on the Crest, Corin and Din lie side by side on a blanket, watching the stars. Their hands are intertwined between them and they talk lazily back and forth about not much at all. 

After a particularly idiotic joke on Din’s part, Corin rolls over to nuzzle his face into Din’s neck and card his fingers through his hair. Din smells clean, like pine needles and lake water and fresh air, and despite his contented fatigue, Corin feels a small flame of desire flicker to life low in his abdomen. He kisses Din, tongue darting out along his bottom lip, and Din opens to him without hesitation, mouth parting around a soft sigh. 

It’s an unhurried, lazy lovemaking, an easy retracing of the lines of desire they have drawn across each other’s skin so many times before. The paths their hands follow across each other’s bodies are well-travelled and comfortable and so, so perfect. 

Afterwards, they lie facing one another, Din on his uninjured side and Corin with his hand on Din’s chest just to feel the beat of his heart in his palm. Din searches his moonlit face and then raises a hand to trace carefully around the edges of the bruises that circle Corin’s eye. 

“Surprised the kid didn’t heal this for you.” 

“He tried,” Corin admits, “but I refused. He exerted himself far too much yesterday and this is nothing anyway.” 

Din hums and trails his fingers down to whisper across Corin’s lips. 

“We ought to get you a helmet,” he says. 

Though Corin knows this has been said idly, in jest, the words make his heart stop and his breath catch. The helmet, and what it means, what it would mean for him to have one—not any helmet, but a Mandalorian one—has been flitting in and out of his mind for longer than he’d care to admit. Din is his family, the Covert is their home, and working to contribute to the community has become an integral part of his life. And Paz and Raga have suggested more than once that he is _Mandokarla_ , the right stuff to be one of them. Despite his past, he knows they would accept him fully into their Tribe if only he asked. And now here, in front of him, is his chance. Corin gathers up all his reserves of courage for what he is about to say. 

“I would—I would wear—” Corin stumbles when Din’s gaze shifts, his face suddenly becoming deadly serious. Corin clears his throat, determined to plough through his self-doubt this time. He means it. He’s thought about it for a long, long time and it feels more right and true than anything he’s ever done before, save for his vows to Din and their child. He tells the voice that whispers he’s not worthy to shut up for once, and continues, “I would do that. I would wear a helmet. _Ni ven’cuy Mando’ad_.” 

“Corin,” Din whispers, stricken. “I would never—I would never ask that of you. You—you’re perfect just the way you are.” 

“I know, I know,” Corin replies. “I mean not that I think I’m perfect—that you would never ask that of me. I know you would never ask that or require that. But—” Corin takes a deep breath and just lets the words fall out. “But I want this. I’ve wanted this for a long time. You, the kid, the Covert, you’re where I belong. I want this life more than anything else I’ve ever known.” 

They just look at each other for a while, Din searching his face with damp eyes for long moments and mindlessly stroking the bare skin of his shoulder. 

“Okay. Okay, yeah,” Din says after a time, accepting Corin’s statement with a shaking hand on the uninjured side of his face. “Okay, _ner kar’ta. Gar Mandokarla. Gar ven’cuy Mando’ad_.” 

They seal the pact with a kiss that unfolds under the watchful gaze of a billion stars, on the luckiest planet Corin’s ever been on. 

**Author's Note:**

> **TRANSLATION NOTES**
> 
> I try my best to get any snippets of Mando’a right by cobbling together a few different translation tools, but no guarantees! Do let me know if you see something glaring!
> 
> _Suum ca'nara_  
>  A state of blissful rest and peace
> 
> _Shab’ni. Ibi'tuur liser sooran ni’jagyc._  
>  Fuck me. This day can suck my dick. 
> 
> _Cui ogir'olar._  
>  It’s irrelevant/whatever.
> 
> _Ner cyare di’kut_  
>  My beloved idiot
> 
> _Mandokarla_  
>  Having the “right stuff” or qualities to become a Mandalorian 
> 
> _Ni ven’cuy Mando’ad._  
>  I would become a Mandalorian. 
> 
> _Gar Mandokarla. Gar ven’cuy Mando’ad._  
>  You have what it takes. You will be a Mandalorian. 
> 
> **Other sundries:**  
>  _Riduur_ =spouse; _ad’ika_ =child/baby; _ner kar’ta_ =my heart; _aliit_ =family; _di’kut_ =idiot; _cyar’ika_ =sweetheart/darling; _kov’nyn_ =Mandalorian-style forehead kiss. 
> 
> And last but not least, the children’s song/poem, which I spent way, way too long writing while in a coffee-fueled haze. Complete with bonus pronunciation guide!
> 
> Su cuy'gar, verd'ika
> 
> Cuun cyar’ika ad’ika 
> 
> Ca cuy munit 
> 
> A gar r’atin'la
> 
> Sa beskar, ad’ika 
> 
> Jii bic cuy vaar'tur
> 
> Ib'tuur jatne tuur 
> 
> Cuun cyar’ika ad’ika 
> 
> Cuun cyar’ika ad’ika 
> 
> | 
> 
> Soo COO-ee-gar, vair-DEE-kah
> 
> Koon shar-EE-kah ah-DEE-kah
> 
> Kah COO-ee MOON-eet
> 
> Ah gahr roo-ah-TEEN-la
> 
> Sah BESK-gar, ah-DEE-kah
> 
> Gee beek COO-ee vahr-TOOR
> 
> EEB- toor JAHT-nay toor
> 
> Koon shar-EE-kah ah-DEE-kah
> 
> Koon shar-EE-kah ah-DEE-kah
> 
> | 
> 
> Hello, little soldier 
> 
> Our darling little one 
> 
> Nighttime is long 
> 
> But you were tough 
> 
> As beskar, little one
> 
> Now it is morning 
> 
> And today is a good day 
> 
> Our darling little one 
> 
> Our darling little one  
>   
> ---|---|---


End file.
